Raindrops
by Kamaka
Summary: Melanie Walker's life is in a downward spiral with no end in sight. A total recluse now, Melanie shut herself away from the world when her family went to jail. But when tragedy strikes, she is once again thrust into the spotlight and Terry is thrown back
1. Raindrops

The rain streamed down the window, making the glass impossibly cold. It felt good on Melanie Walker's body as she leaned against it. Her blue eyes were half-closed, her lips were gently opened. A white sheet was wrapped around her body, complimenting her pale skin. She had let her fitness go and now had curves that she didn't possess before.

Her toes skimmed through the warm water in the bathtub below her. It was white like the rest of the bathroom and what seemed like a million gardenia scented candles stood on the white tiles.

A few months ago a man might have waited for her in the bathroom or her 'girlfriends' would have been screaming for her to get ready to go out to the current 'hot spot'. Not anymore. Now there was no-one in the Walker mansion but her and a handful of servants who had orders to be invisible.

Only 1/5 of the Walker's money was traceable. The rest was all Melanie's and she was all alone. Letting the sheet drop to the ground, Melanie slid into the water, pulling her blond curls away from it. Exhaling, she sunk down, letting her breath go.

No flashes came to her. In truth she would love it if they did. Something, anything to prove that at some time her life hadn't been a complete waste. Her answer was a mass of scented water that hurt to open her eyes in.

Sitting up, Melanie brushed her hair back and sighed again. Placing a black-tipped hand on either side of the tub, Melanie pushed herself up and sighed deeply, trying to get her body to relax.

"What are you doing to yourself?" the slightly humorous voice of her mother asked. Melanie shot up, looking around furiously for the woman who was now rotting behind bars. Melanie buried her fingers in her hair and curled over her knees, taking in choked breaths of air that burned her lungs.

"Ms. Walker? Are you alright?" a quiet voice asked.

"Yes," Melanie said, her voice shaky and muffled.

"You have a visitor Ms. Walker," the voice continued before walking away. Melanie stood up and toweled herself off. She pulled on the long black dress lying on her bed. It was impractical and slightly old but Melanie didn't care. She smoothed the fabric down and walked to the main foyer where the guest was waiting.

"Commissioner Gordon, is there something I can help you with?" Melanie asked addressing the old woman.

Barbara Gordon looked at Melanie with her sharp eyes. She was dressed in black pants and a tan trench-coat that revealed nothing about the weapons she was probably carrying underneath it.

"Ms. Walker, I'd like to talk to you for a minuet if that's alright," Gordon said.

"Yes, of course," Melanie said, "please, follow me."

Soon they were seated in one of the many sitting rooms the manor housed. Paneled in dark wood with a row of windows displaying the Gotham skyline on one side and a large fireplace on the other, the room was welcoming and nice, or had been when the house was for entertaining. Now it just seemed cold.

"Ms. Walker," Gordon began, "there is no easy way to say this, so I will bluntly. Since you haven't been visiting your parents, you were not informed of plans to move them to a new prison."

Melanie looked away. She had wanted to remember her parents as the elegant people they were, not in bright orange jumpsuits as common criminals.

"When we began to move them, our trucks were attacked by people claiming to act on your parent's wishes."

A slight roaring had filled Melanie's ears. Her parents had always said that if they were caught, it would be better to die than to live a life in jail surrounded by scum. Melanie knew what Gordon was going to say before she did.

"Your family is dead."

"Thank you Commissioner Gordon," Melanie said. She heard Gordon stand up and walk out. As soon as the door clicked shut, her icy demeanor fell. Melanie crumpled to the floor with a ragged yell of pure agony. Her fingers grabbed at the cold floor, trying to find something, anything solid to cling to. There was nothing, just the icy marble of the floor and the sound of raindrops hitting the window.


	2. 9 years later

Melanie Walker walked into the foyer of her penthouse. Dressed in a sharp grey pants suit, her blond curls tumbled down her back, pulled away from her face by a black diamond comb. Dropping her bag, she looked around at the mess that she had left after her parent's death: it was gone.

"Ms. Walker?" a maid gasped, dropping her duster.

"Hello," Melanie said curtly.

"You're dead!" cried the maid.

"Hardly."

"You've been declared legally dead miss," the maid said, "the money's gone."

"No," Melanie smiled coldly, "the money is in an account in my mother's name. I had it moved before I came here."

"Let me get that," the maid said picking up her bag and carrying it into the master bedroom, "is it just you?"

"Just me," Melanie said.

"How long will you be staying miss?"

"A while," Melanie replied, "I have business to attend to."

"You did know tonight is the Gala? An invitation arrives for you every year."

"Sent by whom?" Melanie asked curiously pulling out the black crepe invitation as delicate as a bat's wing. On a small white card was a hand written note, "Just in case you're back," Melanie read, "who sends these cards?"

"Mr. Wayne miss," the maid.

"He's still alive?" Melanie frowned.

"Oh yes Miss, he won't go for a long time," the maid said, confused. Melanie nodded and turned to her wardrobe. The attire said formal. The maid ducked out while she stood in front of her wardrobe. Bruce Wayne was still alive? She had been gone for almost ten years and yet so little had changed. Melanie narrowed her eyes and darted back to the invitation. Turning the small white card over, she felt icy chills run down her spine.

T. M. Wayne

As in Terrance McGuiness Wayne.

"Terry," she narrowed her eyes. She hadn't betted on him staying in Gotham past high school, much less being adopted by his former mentor.

"Is Mr. Wayne married?" she called out. The maid was by her side in a flash.

"No miss, he's living with someone though," she said.

"Who?"

"I do not know her name," the maid said, "she's dark, reddish hair—"

"Max," Melanie said.

"Yes miss," the maid nodded.

"Does she go to all formal events with him?"

"Never see one without the other," she said.

"RSVP for me," Melanie instructed, "it seems I'm going to the ball this evening."

Terry leaned against the wall, wishing he could rip off the tuxedo and cursing the dress code. But he had to keep up appearances as Bruce Wayne's heir. His black hair had grown out a bit, though Max was after him to cut it. She stood a bit farther away, dressed in a black gown, her cropped red hair framing her smiling eyes, talking on the phone. The two lived together—but in Wayne Manor that meant she lived ten minuets from him.

She was in charge of the technical side of his operation. She was the home base, sending weapons, information and anything else he could need to him while he was off being Batman.

"Terry," Max said, "Terry listen to me that was Justin."

"What?" Terry asked, referring to Max's private eye, "he said—" but the roaring in his ears her out. Standing at the top of the stairs, dressed in a black gown that sparkled in the dim light was Melanie Walker. Her piercing eyes surveyed the room as it seemed to survey her back. Her blond hair was pulled back, showing her features were still china-doll perfect. Terry almost forgot to breath as longing, stronger than anything he'd felt before tugged at him. Her eyes caught his and she winked before slipping into the crowd.

Suddenly Terry found himself going after her. He'd catch glimpses of blond hair, black silk and pale skin, but he couldn't find her. He felt rather ridiculous, almost like a lovesick teenager, but his mind pushed those thoughts away and urged him to go faster. Finally he burst through the double glass doors and onto the balcony overlooking Gotham.

"Melanie," was all Terry could say. Melanie turned around and looked at him closely. He looked like a billionaire playboy: expensive suit, clean shaven, perfect haircut all the generic traits. But one thing kept her from casting him aside, his eyes. They belonged to a much older man, someone more dead than alive.

"Hello Terry," she said leaning against the balcony, "it's been a while."


	3. Slip Slide Meeting

Melanie leaned against the cold railing, looking into Terry's eyes. Her body had adjusted to the cool air quickly, but the cold inside her was far worse. It was like every drop of her blood had turned to ice when she looked into Terry's eyes. He was as hot as she remembered, handsome was not the right word. His hair had grown out and brushed his jaw in sharp layers, he had grown as well and stood over six feet tall.

His eyes were dead.

They were screaming for something, someone to save him. She doubted that if she had not worn the same look she would have missed it. He hid it better than she ever had. But she caught it, the pain and aguish. He was screaming and no-one could hear him. She doubted even Max could. Pushing back her emotions she faced him with sharp eyes.

"It's been a while?"

He was in front of her in an instant, his body pinning hers to the balcony. She raised her eyebrows at him but did not break their eye contact. Instead she leaned up closer, so there was no space between them. She could feel him tense and smirked, placing her lips against his ear.

"It has been," she whispered.

She could almost feel the anger coming from him. But, to his credit, he did not move away and actually pinned her to the balcony, reversing their positions. Against her wishes, she could feel her muscles tighten, the cold at her back and her ex-something at the front. She forced her muscles to relax, just in case he was enjoying this and used her agility to twist away from him.

"Why did you come back after all this time?" he asked, not even bothering to sound casually. Melanie wished he could, then she could pretend he was one of the rich idiots she had been forced to socialize with in her youth. He never could make anything easy. Crossing her arms against the chill, Melanie forced herself to be strong.

"I found out my parent's death was not accidental," she said, "they were murdered. I know their killer is in Gotham," she said.

"And you want my help."

"Yes."

"No," he said flatly, "I am not going to help you take innocent lives."

"These people," she drew herself up, "are not innocent. They took my family from me."

"Your family was full of criminals," he said, his voice tight. She drew back her hand and smacked him full across the face, her sharp nails leaving jagged lines down his smooth cheek. His face snapped back to her. She was breathing hard, her small hands bunched up into fists.

"I will find these people," she said, her voice unwavering "with or without your help."

Turning she walked back into the sea of people, leaving Terry standing on the balcony watching her disappear. His jaw tight, he turned away as the glass doors slammed shut and faced the unwavering lights of Gotham. This was his city, he had given everything to keep it safe and he was not going to let Melanie Walker and her warped sense of justice ruin that.

Turning he walked through the party members, letting the glass doors slam behind him. He found Max surrounded once again by a bunch of bodyguards who forgot their charges to discuss weapons with Terrance Wayne's lovely house-mate. He wrapped a hand around her back, fingers against her side.

"We have to go," he whispered into her ear. Knowing better than to question why, she turned to her companions.

"Excuse me gentlemen," she said, "you know how the wealthy play-boys can be. Never a moment's peace," the guards laughed and Terry escorted her to the car. Inside, he floored the gas pedal, "okay I know you hate formal events but what the hell?"

"Melanie Walker is going to kill whoever murdered her parents and we have to stop her," he said spinning the wheel. The car turned sharply onto a different street. Max grabbed her seatbelt and slammed it on.

"Tonight!" Max gasped.

"I'm going to patrol tonight," Terry said as the bright lights of Gotham slowly ebbed away, "and after the last incident you told me to never go without you monitoring again," he said.

"It's a little soon to be out again," Max warned.

"That's a risk I'm going to take," he said shooting the car through the wrought-iron gates. He and Max got out and walked through the marble foyer. Max yanked off her high shoes so she could keep pace with Terry as he stormed to the bookcase. She shook her head at her strong-headed best friend.

Downstairs he threw off his formal jacket, tie, vest and cummerbund. Unbuttoning his shirt he threw that aside and Max winced. Slashing across his back from his right shoulder-blade to his left hip was a deep gash, the stitches had just come out and left a deep purple scar.

"I thought after all these years you might be a bit more careful," a cool voice said, "how disappointing."

Both spun around to see Melanie Crane sitting on the chair in front of the consol, her feet propped up on it. She was not in the garb of the party but dressed in black pants and a black jacket. With her dark sneakers and gloves, she looked like a jogger. Terry's hands immediately went for his shirt.

"Don't bother, I've seen it before," she said easily, "I would not touch that if I were you," Melanie said to Max who had gone for the knife hidden in her dress, "considering every tabloid reporter saw me come in here."

"What do you want?" Max demanded.

"I told him," she said looking at Terry, "but he said no," she pouted slightly making Terry's fists clench, "Now, I'm forced to resort to drastic measures. Being an ex-villain, I know how incredibly sweaty you get when you fight crime, so—" she held up one of the masks he wore under his hood, "either you help me or I take this to them and you get to read about the unmasking of Batman in tomorrows paper."


End file.
